Times Of Our Lives
by PhantomPotterGirl
Summary: Another unoriginal drabble series with all pairings (mainly Kaito/Aoko, some Shinichi/Ran and maybe some Heiji/Kazuha), along many more prompts that randomly inspire me! Chapter seven:- "I don't understand." Her voice cried brokenly. "I don't understand."
1. Shattering

A/N: Sooo. Here is going to be another drabble series. Instead of it being a planned series, I'll just shove mindless awkward short or terribly long stories in here that don't deem worthy of being a oneshot. So yeah, I know I haven't been the Author of the Year...but my procastination has literally been taken to another level.

Also: this was inspired by a random prompt website, even though I slightly added a few words, the beginning is NOT mine.

Happy (late) Apocalypse! :D

Disclaimer: _like hell i oWn dis D':_

* * *

"_Times Of Our Lives"_

_by: PhantomPotterGirl_

* * *

"I love you," she whispered into her pink cell phone. Nothing but the echoing music of the Beatles, and the rustle of paper returned from what she thought for a moment, was an open and honest gesture. "Did you hear me?" she paused. "I said I love you."

...

Of course he had heard her. And of course he had, as soon as her long-awaited words burst from her lips, he sunk down to the floor, choking back the surprise—hoping with his heart that she hadn't heard his stifled cry.

Faintly, she could hear the crackle of white noise filter through her ear—he must have had to TV on; the snow had washed away most of the connections with its brutality. And she wondered briefly, if he had just gotten home. The snow had long before destroyed any connection between the stations—and dear God, what could he have been _doing _outside?

"Kaito..." she spoke, unable to stand the silence any longer. If he wasn't going to respond, she was going to _make _him listen, "I said—"

"—I know—what you said. Just—God...Aoko..." he cut her off, flustered. "Just...I can't..."

"What's so difficult? It's either you love me or don't." She pressed him. She knew she wasn't trying to force him, and he knew it too.

Just, _fuck_, _why did she tell him she loved him_?

"...Aoko."

"Yes?" she breathed.

Of all the _times_—when he was still what she hated _most_.

"...I don't."

And she shattered.

* * *

A/N: Sooo? Hooooow was it? Please review :)

_PhantomPotterGirl_


	2. Stranger

A/N: I don't know where this even came from or what the plot even is. Maybe I'll continue this someday...

Disclaimer: _don't own EHRJKEHTKJERJ WHHYY_

* * *

The first thing she noticed was the stranger.

A stranger. A particularly _handsome _stranger—with the kind of drop-dead beauty that women would be dropping their husbands and children for—sitting on a park bench, leisurely reading the morning newspaper (at least, she assumed it was the morning paper), his features content and relaxed, gazing in amusement at the morning funnies.

Now, this wouldn't have been so strange. No. Not strange at all in fact, it would've been rather normal for a stranger to read a newspaper early in the morning on a peaceful day in the park. It _would've _been normal, however, if it wasn't for the fact that his newspapers' letters were _moving_, and that it current colour was not the original black and grey, but _purple_.

Another problem seemed to be that just about no other single living soul was visible, except her and the stranger.

Now, Aoko's father was an officer, he had started quite early in his twenties and spent the better of his life chasing down criminals, constantly living on the edge and getting hammered until he couldn't tell the difference between men or women. He had become far too paranoid for his own good, and like any another father, drilled the danger signs, the compulsorily police instincts into his daughter ("Like hell am I going to let you get yourself kidnapped and then not be able to defend yourself!" he had said to her puzzlement)—and she knew, alone with a stranger, _a man_, in an isolated park with nothing, not even a cell phone, was making her head wiring go nuts. Her father's gruff voice screaming alarms in her head—_danger! Danger! Run! Run! Get away as far as you can!_

And although she might be her father's daughter, a policeman's prodigy—she was desperate.

Alone and confused, he seemed like the type of someone who'd know the answers. The answers to _anything_. She had no recollection of how she had gotten there, or wherever on Earth this place even _was _and _why _in God's name there was no other living person here; and for some reason—for _some reason_, she felt like she could trust him. However clichéd or insane that it sounded, she felt like that he would in some way—give her what she needed.

…whatever the hell _that_ was.

In her reverie, she had never noticed that he had brightened upon seeing her.

"Are you just going to stand there all day, or are you going to sit down?" he asked amused, pushing away his newspaper to his right, openly inviting her to the seat next to him.

She complied.

Thankfully, he started the conversation for her.

"So, I'm pretty sure you have a ton of questions lined up for me. However, that's boring and I'm bored enough already…want some cake?" his voice was the kind that reminded you of a long lost best friend, someone you hadn't met in years, and whom you used to be close to.

"Huh?"

"I said: cake?" out of nowhere, a plate of chocolate cake had been pushed under her nose.

"Wha—where did that come from?"

He only grinned, "A magician never reveals his secrets."

A brow arched, "You're a magician?"

"Naturally."

_This is too bizarre, _Aoko thought.

"So…do you want it?" he pressed, "because I am rather hungry. Been sitting here for a while you know? You can only handle so much bird chirping before you go nuts starving."

"Go—go ahead." She muttered strangely.

If possible, his grin widened, "Great!" and he proceeded to wolf it down like a typical imitation of her father.

_Just who on earth is he? And what did he mean 'been sitting here for a while?' _Aoko wondered frowning. He possibly had one of the worst manners she had ever seen, which was saying something...

He slurped his fingers, much to her disgust, "So Aoko. Do you know why you're here?"

"How do you know my name?" she demanded, "who are you? What am I doing here?"

The plate disappeared, "That's what I asked _you_. And since you don't know…well, no fun in spoiling _that _surprise (she scowled, he grinned). As for me," his arm reached and a rose sprang from between his fingers, "my name's Kuroba Kaito. Nice to meet you."

Despite the fact she wanted to box his ears in, Aoko blushed. She'd never been given a rose before.

"Who _are _you?" she pressed once more, taking the rose from his fingers.

"I told you, Kuroba Kaito. Now, as to _what _I am or what I have to do with you…finding out for yourself is probably more fun. So Aoko, do you know why you are here?" he asked again, twirling another flower in his hand, a lily, she noted.

She had to bite her tongue from exploding with too many questions, "No. That's why I asked _you_. Where are we?"

He looked around unimpressed, "Damnation, I guess."

"_What_?" she spluttered.

"Oh. Sorry, for _me_, well—it's damnation. No people, no friends, no animals, no change of weather—it's all very _boring_. I need the constant motion, I'll go insane otherwise—that is, if I'm not already...Anyway, you're the first person I've seen here in, oh about, give or take, a hundred years." He muttered nonchalantly.

That's it. He was officially insane. Aoko despaired.

"You're _insane_. _Where are we_?"

"That's quite rude to say to someone you've never met before, you know. And I told you, we're in my _damnation_, geez woman, how many times do I need to say it?"

She whacked him on the head.

"_What was that for_?" he hissed.

"For being a _smartass._ Now, how I do get back home?" she looked around, foolishly hoping for something like a bright neon exit sign hovering around somewhere.

He snorted, "Good luck trying. I've scaled this place a million times, no cracks or nothing." The last part was said bitterly, with the type of hate Aoko was surprise by.

Awkward, she hesitantly asked, "How did you get here?"

He glanced at her, "Ah, ha. Funny story actually. I'd rather not divulge that information right now…" _unless I want my head on your platter_, Kaito added to himself musingly.

"Oh…ok."

He brightened up into another grin, "_Anyway_, enough boring talk." He jumped off his seat, "walk with me Aoko. It's time to stretch these legs and yours—you've got _really _nice legs you know. It's been a while since I've seen such a great pair of legs…hey—what colour underwear are you wearing?"

She blushed angrily and screamed at him, "That's none of your business, you…_pervert!_"

He held out a hand to her, "Walk with me."

And against her better judgement, she accepted his hand.

* * *

A/N: Yeeeeah, the ending was annoying me. I did have some stuff after it, but it because too waffly and long-winded, suddenly just becoming too complicated and annoying-this was the best place to end it. Please review!

_PhantomPotterGirl_


	3. Oh, The Irony

_A/N: Sooo, I honestly just wanted this as a small thing where they just find out that Kaito's best friend was Aoko, however, this MONSTER came out...again. I seriously hate how I do that. ANYWAYS, I tried a little angst here with something nice for everyone in the end because sometimes I don't like being a horrible person :P_

_Disclaimer: DONT OWN WHY WHY WHY I WANT KAITO AND AOKO TOGETHER ALREADY_

* * *

"Oi, Hattori, _move it_."

"Don' talk like that to me, there's hardly any room here!"

"Move it Hattori! I can't breathe!"

"Well too bad—I can' breathe either!"

"Just budge a little it's not hard."

"There ain't no room Kudo!"

"Don't lie Hattori, there's so much space there!"

"Well maybe your glasses are on a littl' wonky 'cuz there ain't!"

"Will you two ladies just _kindly_ shut up?" a third voice interjected exasperatedly.

"_Who're you callin' lady Ki_—_aaagh. Wha' was that for, you brat?_"

"We are on a _public train _Hattori."

"…Oh right."

"It's a wonder how you're still alive."

"Shut it Kuroba."

…

"Goddammit. Why'd ya haft'a live so far away Kuroba?"

"It's not like I _asked _you guys to come, you two invited yourselves."

"Just please stop talking—breathing is hard enough, I don't need to listen to you two complaining as well."

"Who's complainin'? You're the one complainin'."

"Just shut up."

* * *

"Hm."

"What?" he glanced at the Osakan detective, who frowned upon seeing his home.

"Oh, nothin'. Just expected it to be bigger, ya know?"

Sarcastically: "If you hadn't noticed—all my equipment are the _same_ and _irreplaceable_, we're not all detectives whose fathers are world-known authors or district Police Commissioners."

"No need for the sarcasm ya know, I was just wonderin'." Hattori Heiji grumbled.

"Come on in." Kuroba Kaito opened the door, waiting for Heiji and the young boy, Conan Edogawa, (otherwise known, furtively by few, as the 'missing' Kudo Shinichi) to step inside.

It was a humble home—far from Heiji's imagination of the kind of home he'd expected the great 'Kaitou Kid' to live in. He had shamelessly imagined that he was an older, arrogant billionaire who lived on riches; adopting the smirking Kaitou Kid alias as personal joke rather than the sobering truth of a young man seeking revenge for his murdered father. And the truth came, from a rather shocking, mindlessly, mistakenly dangerous—_and _unintentional—case that both Heiji and Conan had followed up on.

"Just leave your things on the shelf. My mother will put them somewhere when she gets home." Kaito ushered the two inside, a little strained in his speaking—he was somewhat nervous at their sceptic gazes swivelling left and right around his home—scrutinizing every single detail. He had rather hoped his identity would stay as far away from the detectives as possible, it complicated things to absolute extreme. His life as Kaitou Kid was dangerous—thrilling, yes—but dangerous. As Kuroba Kaito, things like on-the-edge-of-homicidal Inspectors or almost-psychopathic detectives, guns and gems didn't _matter_; he was merely a high school student with an irate best friend who chased him with a mop during class hours. His two 'lives' were _supposed _be as insoluble as possible, however smart he was, he couldn't keep track of everything that ran its course; that blended and moulded together in his 'two lives' (such as the introduction of Akako). The sheer thought that he could handle it was laughable, added with his heist-planning, his lonely best friend and the constant need to keep his mind off of just running out, calling his father's killers out in the open and shooting them senseless—_dear God_...the weight alone was just _impossible_. The mix between them just blended his life into a complicated intangible mess that he just _didn't _need.

However, he couldn't control his fate—or the people around him.

Otherwise, the accidental trod on his identity _might_ even be helpful in some cases; it certainly took Kudo and Hattori a while to contemplate whether or not to turn him in, as they were obliged, by law, to turn him in. But Kaito, who they had just met under pretence of a witness (and possible suspect) in a murder investigation, had indirectly, grown onto them.

And shit, did he _seriously _pay for worming into both detectives' hearts as his true face.

Which was why, after a serious of shouting matches (many exclaims of 'Barou!' and 'Ahou!' were uttered), they demanded Kaito to answer their questions.

That is, unless he wanted Nakamouri-keibu on his doorstep the next morning, dragging him away to the station in handcuffs.

Kaito pointed them to move in, walking behind them since he had been preoccupied with locking his door. To his ultimate, and a little embarrassing, surprise—they weren't alone as he had originally thought. His best friend was standing near the window, staring into the sun-soaked sky through the windows.

"_Aoko_? What on earth are you doing here?" his voice startled her out of her daze, and she turned suddenly sporting an angry glare.

"What? Did you think you could think skip _a month _of school and not get noticed? I had to see what was up with you, you idiot!" she yelled, and when realizing she was in presence of company, hastened with extreme embarrassment, "oh my goodness, I'm incredibly sorry, that was incredibly rude of me. I'm Nakamouri Aoko, this idiots' childhood friend. I'm so sorry you had to see that..."

Heiji and Conan, at first startled, smiled politely in return.

"No no, it's alrigh'. I'm Hattori Heiji and this is Edogawa Conan." Heiji smiled.

"Hello!" Conan grinned cutely.

Aoko melted, "Aw, you're so _cute_."

Shinichi had to struggle to keep his scowl hidden come her comment (and also desperately tried to hide his blush, she looked a little _too much _like Ran for comfort)—he still wasn't able to suppress the small shuddering feeling of disgust whenever he was called 'cute'; he _was_ still seventeen years old—even if mentally.

Kaito coughed, glaring a little at Conan, "Anyway _Aoko_, I think it's better that you should _leave_."

And suddenly, almost as if she had forgotten the two already, she turned to glare ferociously at the magician.

"_Excuse_ me? What's with that tone _mister_? You disappear for a _month_; leave me _worrying _about you, and when you suddenly do decide to show yourself, I have to _leave_ with no explanation to where you were or what you were doing?" she demanded.

He snorted, "You're not my _mother _and besides, we can talk later. If you hadn't noticed, I'm a little _busy _right now."

"Busy? Doing what? If _you_ hadn't noticed Kaito, you're still in _high-school; _you've got no other business to attend to. So forgive me if I don't believe you if you say you're 'busy'." She said sarcastically.

"Go ahead, don't believe me. But I was busy and I still am, I'll tell you later because this isn't—"

"Are you _kidding _me? I was making myself _sick _worrying over you! I couldn't even get contact of your own _mother_, it's either you tell me _now _or I won't leave! And I am not _waiting _for you!" she said defiantly. She turned to Heiji and Conan (who had watched the exchange with smirking eyes), "I'm sorry that you two have to see this but—"

"Oh no, it's _totally _fine. We _completely_ understan' your situation. You can go on as long as you wan'. We'll be waitin' in the kitchen." Heiji grinned widely, cutting her off. Kaito noticed that he kept sharing strange glances with Conan, who in turn, was looking rather smug as well. They took refuge towards the kitchen, which conveniently for them, was small; connected to the living room and was held by paper-thin walls—they didn't even _need _to be in the living room to overhear the conversation.

Before Kaito could figure out _why _those two were smirking as if they had gotten hold of the greatest secret in the world, Aoko had started lecturing him angrily again.

"—and you! You've got some _serious _explaining to do!"

He sighed exasperatedly, "Listen Aoko, it's not a big deal. Just forget it, it's not a—"

"_Just forget it_? Is that all you have to say to me?" she cried shrilly, "just 'poof' off a month without any contact what-so-_ever_: no calls, no texts, no messages, _hell_—not even one of those _stupid doves _you send with notes attached to them!—and you expect me to completely forget about it?" she started choking a bit, "just who do you think you are? I was _worried about you_. If you hadn't noticed, Aoko's not good with dealing with things like this! Aoko's used to people leaving her—and _you—my best friend_._.._what if something had happened to you? What then? I couldn't even reach your _goddamn mother of all people_—what was I supposed to _do_? I had no idea where you were, no idea what you could've been up to—I—and the _things _that everyone was saying_—_I—Aoko almost went to her _father_ and—_god_—and when you finally come back—I just can't _believe you_..." she trailed off hiccupping.

"Oi, Aoko. _Aoko_, _calm down_." He sighed, "Oh...stop crying you idiot...here." he graciously handed her some tissues, which she gladly accepted.

"You think calling me—_hic_—an idiot will make me_—hic—_feel better?" she rubbed her eyes.

"Just—God Aoko, those two won't ever let me go of this—I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry that I disappeared, that I didn't tell you. That was really inconsiderate of me, I should've known that it'd upset you...listen, I _promise_ that I will tell you, but _this isn't the right time_. I need to deal with some errands first, then I'll come to you." he said soothingly, hoping to God that the walls were more sound-proof than he knew.

"Why should I even _trust _you? Lately, you've been breaking _a lot _of promises." She sniffed.

A part of him stung at the accusation, but he knew he couldn't deny it—she was right. Taking his father's mantle had affected his life a far greater much than he had expected. "I know I haven't exactly been 'Best Friend of the Year' recently...but I promise you—I'm trying. There's just...a lot of things I've got going on and—things that I need to figure out; so _please—_bear with me?"

Aoko rubbed her eyes, and sighed with suffering, "Just _what _even is _wrong_? Why can't you just _tell me_? I'm your best friend, aren't I?"

His face took an expression of compressed pain, "Just let me sort it out first alright? I know I haven't been acting so _normal_, but I just—just give me some time, okay, will you?"

"...but do you _promise_, though? That you _will _tell me someday? When you figure things out? And not give me those half-assed lies, like you always do?"

"I _promise you Aoko_—now _leave_ you baka, you're making my floor dirty."

"_Bakaito—_like you've even _clean _that floor." She whispered bitterly.

"_Ahouko_, it's _cleaner_ than yours."

"Have you even _seen _your room?"

"I actually have, in fact, cleaned my room—when's the last time you did yours? Last week? Last month? Last _year_?" he pressed, smirking, suddenly popping confetti with his accusations, and pulling out two roses from inside the tangled mess of her hair.

She stared a little incredulously, "Are you serious? Do you even _live _in the same house? Are we even _talking _about the same _room_?"

"I dunno—are you?" he shrugged, offering her the roses with a cheeky grin.

She stared, and then laughed. "You're just _impossible_."

His eyes softened at her laugh, and before he even saw it coming, Aoko had grabbed him and hugged him with all her strength. She had worried about him a _whole _lot more than he had thought—or would ever know. He grew rigid in her arms, unused to shows of affection from her, more expecting of a mop targeted towards his head.

And yet—a contracting and warm feeling had spread in his chest.

"I'm glad that you're alright." She said into his clothes, which muffled her voice and hid her smile.

He blushed madly, struggling to form coherent sentences in his head. _Shit_, _what was that word again_? "Okay, okay. Enough...with the girly-touchy-ness—just _leave_ already."

She pulled back, and whacked him on the head for good measure, "You'd _better _come to school on Monday, or my fist won't be the only thing going for your head." She threatened and finally, left.

He sighed heavily, relieved that _finally_, finally—Aoko had left.

Now all he had to do was to deal with Hattori and the Chibi-Kudo...just _great_. Although now, Kaito thought bitterly, even _Aoko_ was revealed about his private life (something he had hoped even _more _that would stay out of Kudo and Hattori's line of sight).

"So..._Nakamouri_?—now why would tha' name sound familiar?" Heiji mused.

Kaito turned around quickly, Heiji and Shinichi had snuck out of the kitchen while he was submerged in his thoughts. And, to note, they _were _smiling rather..._wolfishly_.

Shinichi joined in, "Hm, it is _awfully _familiar...I can feel it, it's on the tip of my tongue, I _swear_." The gleam of his glasses was mockingly glaring at him.

Kaito scowled, suddenly aware of where this was going. Both Shinichi and Heiji, upon Kaito's growing scowl, burst out in loud and disgusting laughter.

"Nakamouri's daughter!" Shinichi giggled.

"Of all people!" Heiji chortled.

"The man who's trying to catch you!"

"And yer in love with his daugh'er!"

"Oh the _irony_."

Dryly, Kaito crossed his arms: "You both sound like a bad boy band—and who said that I was _in love _with her?"

Shinichi stared at him, "Seriously? You have _got_ to be kidding." He turned to Heiji, raising a brow, "he's _got _to be kidding."

Heiji shook his head, "Dunno. There's a stro'g case of denial ther'."

Kaito's brow arched, "_Denial_?"

"Of all things to talk about..." Shinichi grumbled, "I think you should sit down Kuroba. This'll come awkwardly."

"Why do you even _care_?" Kaito asked, and somehow, Shinichi could understand that the magician wasn't _just_ asking about his 'denial situation'.

Shinichi looked up at him, and it was times like this that Kaito had to remind himself that this wasn't Edogawa Conan he was looking at—but _Kudo Shinichi_. The Detective of the East, the one person who had matched him equally in both intellect and looks—the one person who was by far, the _unluckiest _and most _intelligent_ person that he had ever met. He just couldn't _live _with that comfortable assumption that this was what Kudo would always look like: a young elementary seven-year-old who interacted comfortably with people older than him. In a lot of ways, Kudo had seen more horrors than Kaito, horrors that he couldn't even imagine; he was a man hardened into age far too quickly—and times like this, when Kudo looked up at him through those glasses, with those hard, cold, brighter, glazing eyes—Kaito could see him, the Detective of the East's face staring at him, and not the disguise he'd set up for the world to see.

"Let's just say..." he said slowly, "we understand. Far more than you'll ever know. And besides—you can't imagine that two detectives _wouldn't _be interested in the secret identity of Kaitou Kid?"

Hattori suddenly chuckled, "Nakamouri's daughter bein' your best friend though—now _that's_ funny."

Conan looked up unbelievingly in amusement, "The _irony_."

* * *

_A/N: How'd that go? Please review!_

_PhantomPotterGirl_


	4. Raid

_A/N: I am so sorry. I have made an AU and I am completely sorry for it. If you guys like it then I'll try continue it later on, if not, that is totally okay._

_Disclaimer: don't own. shit._

* * *

It was a little twisted, a little sick really.

He had no conscious memory of what had happened. It had been an average morning, a highly bright, harsh sun-filled morning. He had gotten dressed, opened the door to set off to work and a blur of red and dark green flashed into his eyes before he had lost consciousness.

He woke up covered in blood.

Faintly, in the back of his mind, he was panicking—he had realized that his stomach was cut open. His left shoulder had a chunk of flesh missing, his left ear had completely been ripped from his head, andhis heart was _not beating_; he then fairly registered that he wasn't supposed to be conscious, or even thinking—yet his eyes were open and his mind was as awake as radio cranked up to the max volume, screaming and blinking in light-speed.

He was dead.

But he wasn't.

His first few days had been spent venturing aimlessly—wondering where the rest of the people, sorry, the _humans_—where. He briefly wondered where his friends—sorry—his _past _friends were; were they dead? Were they like _him_? Were they safe? And he wondered, wondered with the slightest indignation if _she _was alive, still alive or—like _him_.

However, he'd pushed that thought to the deepest, darkest corner of his mind. He was dead. And past lives didn't matter anymore.

At least—that was what he had hoped.

But life was a little twisted, a little sick really.

* * *

The blood was slippery, warm and thick on his fingers. And for a moment, he almost felt like he was alive again.

He had tried his hardest, for the first few months (had it been months? He had no idea, time didn't exist now) to stay away from tearing open anyone he had ever come across—only feeding when he needed to, when it became too much for him to ignore. And it was disgusting. He had to close his eyes the first few times, from completely chickening out from revulsion, his human conscious had, unfortunately, remained with him.

However, as time grew on, sickeningly (and rather a little to his relief)—he started _liking _it. Bit by bit, the taste started to become..._enjoyable. _Not exactly the most fleshiest or warm feeling, but, rather, the taste, the feeling of raw flesh in his hands, the _warm, thick blood _slipping through his fingers started to remind him that he once used to be alive; and it gave him a thrill. A sick kind of thrill that drummed through his body that almost felt like adrenaline. It wasn't exactly perfect—but he didn't complain, at least he didn't have to force down the flesh into his throat anymore.

His hand dug deeper into the dead man's carcass. He was fairly middle-aged, light brown hair, glasses—another face, another name that'll never be remembered by anyone ever again. He'd stopped becoming guilty from feeding now. The instinctual urge had long before been pushed into the back of his mind (however, it did nag his sort-of conscious constantly, so he always remembered to check the name of the body if they had any cards on them)—he didn't need to care. This man's family was probably all dead. He was dead. His wife and children were probably dead (if he had any). He didn't need to care.

He didn't.

And it didn't matter.

He ate slowly, savouring the raw loose flesh in his mouth. God, it been _forever_ since he had a fresh human—the older zombies, he _hated_ how they always grabbed the best ones before him. Annoying, since they could do nothing but growl; and brag about the masses of people that they had eaten.

_Tch_—stupid arrogant assholes.

"_Don't—move._"

A harsh voice shook him out of his mindless stupor. He heard a click, and the smooth cold metal of a gun pressed against the back of his head.

_...oh—shit_.

_Why didn't he check the room for other survivors? Dammit. How was he going to get out of this one?_

Slowly, Kaito dropped the man's liver from his teeth. The blood dripped from his mouth, sliding down his bloodless neck. He turned around to his attacker.

He was blonde. Young. Handsome too. Probably around Kaito's age—which surprised him, a lot of teenagers his age were dead, due to their slightly naive recklessness; they always thought they were invincible. Briefly, he noted that this kid didn't look like the other younger kids he had seen. Despite the fact that he was a zombie now; his vast intellect had remained (something he was _graciously _grateful for) and he noted the boy's stance—confident, cool, collected, firm and balanced; the gun didn't shake once nor where his sharp eyes wavering or jittering uncontrollably.

Which only meant one thing: this kid definitely knew what he was doing.

And that only meant one thing to Kaito.

That he was utterly—completely—horrifically_—screwed_.

"You try anything, this bullet goes straight through your brain—_got it_?" the blonde said with malice.

Kaito only stared at him with bloodshot eyes, contemplating whether or not he should just take his chances and attack—a couple bullets wouldn't hurt him, however, he had the sinking suspicion that this kid _knew _where to shoot and just how painfully it could—officially, kill him for good.

But before he could make up his mind—for the first time in his months as the undead—he lost consciousness.

* * *

When he woke up, the first thing he noticed were the ropes binding him to the chair. Next, were the sounds of the _hearts_, blood _pumping_, chests _rising_ and _breathing_—he couldn't help the animalistic growl that ripped out from his throat. Dear God he could _smell _it. It was so _clean _and _fresh_.

Hunger savaged through him like a possessive drug, churning darkly in his head—_shit_.

The flesh, he _needed _it. _Needed _it before he went _insane_...

"Don't even try, _fleshie_. Those ropes are specifically designed to keep sick things like you down. You can struggle all you want, but you won't get out of them." A voice bit at him, smirking.

"Davis-san. Don't antagonise him." A sharp voice cut in.

"Pfft, like it could _do _anything."

"_Davis-san_."

"Tch, _stingy woman_."

If it wasn't for the fact that there were ropes binding him to the chair, he was sure he would've fallen over from shock. He'd recognised the honorific—_Japanese_. Like _he used to be_.

After a few brief moments of panicking, he tried compose his thoughts: _calm down Kaito—it's not like she _knows _you or something...and wait a minute...what, exactly am I doing here? Why haven't they killed me yet? And...where's the blonde? Who _are _these people?_

"Davis-san, please call in Hakuba-kun for me." The woman asked monotonously.

"I ain't your servant..." the man mumbled before quietly slipping away, slamming the door with an echoing clang behind him.

Slowly, Kaito opened his eyes.

Composed, calm and emotionless. She looked as if one glare from her could pierce straight through your soul and leave you with nothing but bits of pieces of your shattered soul. She looked as if she would find no delight or rage in anything, and that nothing you could ever do would break her mask of collected features. Her hair was cut short, business-like, thick and reddish-blonde; her eyes were green-ish, slightly bluer and fragile—like a sword made of titanium glass. She looked like a scientist, a woman you should never mess with.

"I'm pretty sure you're very confused right now. Either you're very afraid or very angry; it doesn't really matter right now. For all I know, you might be able to understand every single word I'm saying, or you might be imagining tearing the skin from arms and legs until you're satisfied in feeding the churning desire in your virus-intoxicated mind. It's a difficult guess. However, for now, scientific details don't matter. I will assume you understand what I am saying, considering you haven't tried to jump me like the others had done.

"My name is Haibara Ai" she smiled coldly at him, "I am one of the most and last, highly qualified scientists of the modern-day world. I've seen things that you couldn't imagine even in your wildest dreams. I've created toxins which can shrink you to a body of a child; I've created poisons and drugs which can make phantom pain real, I've discovered branches of science and technology which are not yet publically available because I choose not to reveal them. I am the single most important scientist in the history of mankind—without me, the human race would've wiped into oblivion centuries ago. I've associated with men and women who could make your skin crawl. I've walked the skies and touched the stars—and now, you will be my experiment. Currently, you are in one of the very last surviving human camps of the world. Our numbers are dwindling, and I have been called in their time of need." She looked for a moment as if she would laugh, but decided against it. "You will be fed and kept in a locked room during your stay here. If you survive the first week, then congratulations—you stand a longer chance than the others before you. You will be experimented, tested and feel pain you might've believed you couldn't ever feel ever again. A guard will be assigned to you shortly; you will not ever see others of your kind or any humans during your stay here." this time, he was positive there was a chilling pleasure in her voice, "Welcome, to my lab."

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_A/N: Once again, I apologise. Please review? (that is if anyone is still even reading my shit...)_

_PhantomPotterGirl_


	5. Stars

_A/N: Ignore me. I don't know what this is or where it came from. Ugh, word vomit._

_Disclaimer: don't own WHHYYY_

* * *

And he was like the sun on a brilliant summer day, shining blue and melting ice. And it didn't matter that he was the one she hated most, that he had flown so high and left her on the ground like a little housewife, waiting her husband home. It didn't matter that his hair was a little too long and his tongue a little too bitter or that the sun was burning, the sky was blinding and the waves were whistling and crashing coldly like knives in her ears. Because he was her and she was him, they were broken and rusted, they were high and low, bitter and sweet—they were friends. Best friends.

And it didn't matter that she had sworn to the stars she'd be done with him, or that she promised her friends she'd start to go out more and Hakuba was waiting for her at the restaurant anxiously checking his pocket-watch every two milliseconds.

Because he was like sun and his smile was like the stars and his hair was a little too long, his tongue a little too bitter; but she was sweet and her skin was like the moon and her temper rolled like licking flames on wet firewood.

And his smile was blinding.

And when he kissed her, she was seventeen and thieves and murderers didn't matter. And when he laughed with her, she was sixteen, chasing him in math class with her untouchable mop. And when he smiled at her, she was fifteen, pushing down the warm tenderness that spread through her chest every single time he grinned. And when he stared at her, she was fourteen, trying so desperately to stop herself from drowning in his eyes. And when he flirted with her, she was thirteen, trying to understand why she got so angry when he laughed with other girls. And when he smirked at her, she was twelve, suspiciously watching him with weary eyes anticipating the moment where the next firework would shoot off. And when he helped her bake her cookies, she was eleven, trying to beat it in his skull that girls were better than boys. And when he wrapped his arms around her, she was ten, trying to bear the days when her mother's early death was too painful to surpass the day on her own without him.

Because she was him and he was her.

And they were bittersweet and alone, suffering like a thousand washed-out stars in the inky sky.

But she was Aoko and he was Kaito, and somehow—they'll get through this.

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_A/N: Hmm, I'm thinking Shinichi and Ran for the next one...what to you guys think? Please review!_

_PhantomPotterGirl_


	6. Failure

**A/N: Heey guys. I am baaack. However, I just wanted to say that this will be temporary. I will come back fully after June-that is because my IGCSE exams are so close and I honestly, truly don't have the time. I'm incredibly sorry to all of you for making you wait so long. I know I've been neglecting my account and my stories, but I _promise _that they will _not _be taken down. I will finish them. One way or another.**

**Moving on, yay! I finally updated. Another ten-twenty-thirty minute oneshot, I am so sorry but I am not in the mood to write an actual plotline base fic today.**

**Disclaimer: _the things that i could've DONE to these pairings...if i owned them...that is..._**

* * *

He watched her silently.

She was there. In the flesh. Watching, waiting and hoping. Her heart standing on the line, saying that she was fine, that she could hold it, that she was strong—that she was invincible.

But no matter how much you could break a metal post with your bare hands, your heart was fragile—and it was crying. It was screaming and it wanted more.

Because she had waited, and she had hoped and she still waits even now—even when his calls were every once a month, and his letters were less frequent and his house grew dustier and he suddenly grew quiet, no longer saying anything when she asks him the fateful question:

"_When are you coming back_?"

Because he couldn't say anything. He no longer could bring himself to utter the same excuse:

"_It's the case I'm working on. It's hard and dangerous, I can't come back yet—but I will. When I can. When all this is over, I'll come back_."

Because he could see it. See her on the other side of the line: eyes dull, chest deflating, her smile grows sad, longing—and then she smiles again. Bittersweet, dark and lonely; her hair hanging in front of her soul because she doesn't want to shatter…not yet, not when her father or Conan-kun can see her—because they had seen her cry far more often than she had ever wanted them to, especially Conan-kun. Because she has saddened him enough already—and she couldn't bring herself to sadden him even further—she was supposed to be the older sister to him, comfort him because his parents were away and never called him; but at times, it was him, that shy, little boy that looked far too much like him, soothing her tears and telling her, injecting the hope that he'll come back again.

That he…_cares_.

But he could only watch. Watch her wither away because she can't handle it—not knowing where he was, if he was even alive the very next day or dying the next second. Because they needed to talk.

Like he had said: "_You're not the only one._ _I have things to ask you and tell you as well. So wait for me, will you? But if my deduction's correct…I suspect…that what we would like to ask each other is one in the same_."

And she smiled. Smiled like a fool and let him go.

And then she never saw him again for months, weeks, days—it didn't matter, but the point was he never came back. Never willingly.

And then she went to London. And there she found him, running away. Running from her.

And she didn't know _why _she chased him. Why she continuously chased after him in London like a maniac—she thought it was because she couldn't believe that he was really there. But seeing him—coming out of that phone box…

She snapped.

And she ran. Ran away. Ran as fast as she could, running away from him, from what she wanted, what she needed, from what she was too terrified to face.

Because she was scared. And she didn't want to be alone; he had lied to her, hid her in the dark—she was lost and she waited for him. Waited and waited and waited and waited until the days seemed endless, the nights were visions and the stars blacked out in her eyes. She waited until her father argued to give up on him, her friends hated him and even her mother, using her father as an obvious example of what 'detective boys like him' would only end up like.

But Shinichi was not her father. Nor her father was like Shinichi.

And she waited.

Waited.

Waited, until London.

Watched him slowly walk out…slowly…slowly…step…by…step…

But she ran. Ran, because her heart could not hold it any longer. She was sick of him. Sick of waiting, sick of wishing, sick of wanting, sick of defending his actions, sick of his ignorance, sick of him asking her to wait, sick of him for being a detective freak, sick of him, sick of him—just _goddamn sick _of being _in love_ with him.

Because she was Mouri Ran. And he was Kudou Shinichi.

Fate made it tragic. Fate made it impossible, fate made it _unbearable_.

But he was Kudou Shinichi—and somehow, he'll _drag _Ran out from this hell.

From this nightmare.

Because Kudou Shinichi never stopped for anyone—never stopped because Ran was his fuel, his light; and he might not believe in 'soul mates' or 'red strings of fate'—he believed in one thing.

He believed in Ran. Because Mouri Ran was his friend. His best friend, his first love and the most important person in the entire world.

And he would not fail her.

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**A/N: I feel like my writing is slowly becoming a nightmare to read. Be honest, will you? And by honest, I don't mean this: "holy shit this was fUCKING awFUL how DAAREEEE you call yourself a writer" or even the sly awful ones "yeah, i totally dont see that happening in the story like seriously, what the hell have you done to my otp your writing style is so lame like shaa~~" xP **

**I'm sorry I did that. Omg. Please review?**

**_PhantomPotterGirl_  
**


	7. Understand

**A/N: So yeeeah. Awkward one-shot in the middle of the night. Hopefully I won't keep doing this for the rest of my life -.-**

**Disclaimer: _don't own_**

* * *

"…do you ever miss him?"

"Huh?"

"Do you ever miss him—your dad, I mean."

"Oh…yeah. All the time, actually."

"Do you ever wonder what would've happened if he hadn't died? If he never did that show or if he never became Kaitou Kid?"

"Aoko…"

"No, no. Answer my question."

"…I think about it all the time."

"How…how do you stand it? How can you—_act _like it doesn't bother you…how do you—keep _living _like it's okay—how can you stand waking up in the morning knowing that _he's not there for you_?"

"Aoko."

"_I can't_—_I just_…need some t-time…"

"Come here."

She slid into his arms, and he stood there gravely, asking with the slightest indignation why the grave stood before him; and why did things like this always happen to her—to the best of people.

"We're going to be okay. You're going to be okay. We will be okay." He whispered into her hair reassuringly, his fingers stroking her damp hair.

It was raining. And the thunder clapped like a broken string of light throughout the sky.

"I don't understand." Her voice cried brokenly. "I _don't understand_."

"I'm here Aoko. I'm here."

"_Why_…_why_…"

_Here lies_

_Nakamouri Ginzo_

_Beloved father, husband and friend_

He wasn't able to answer.

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**A/N: Please review? Been a couple of boring weeks lately...**

**_PhantomPotterGirl_**


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